


Ecstasy

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Shameless [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Breathplay, Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: The harder Dean struggles, the tighter Castiel pulls the tie.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Shameless [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/464476
Comments: 8
Kudos: 209





	Ecstasy

The harder Dean struggles, the tighter Castiel pulls the tie.

Not that Dean does it intentionally. Hands cuffed behind his back, he can’t help but whine and shift, the armchair not nearly big enough for this. His thighs strain, knees aching as he lifts up, settling down atop Castiel’s thighs. Those glorious, wonderful thighs that keep his legs parted.

Castiel settles a hand on Dean’s waist, digging his thumb into the curve of Dean’s hip while he tugs on the tie around Dean’s throat. Not close enough to suffocate him, but just to add pressure, to keep him rooted. “You’re doing well,” he hums and kisses a wet mark to Dean’s chest, teeth scraping the sparse hairs between his pecs. “But you can do better, can’t you?”

“Cas,” Dean huffs, sucking in a breath. He can’t move—not like this, not when Castiel won’t give him the leverage. Minutes ago, it sounded like the best idea in the world, crawling into Castiel’s lap and riding him until he forgot his own name. Now, the only thing Dean knows is muscle aches and his erection, persistent despite everything else. “Cas, c’mon, I can’t—”

“You can.” Pulling Dean forward, Castiel drops a kiss to his lips, then licks across the seam, until Dean gives in and opens to him, easily, without insistence. A fresh wave of lust rushes to his cock, precome leaking from the tip and smearing across Castiel’s stomach. “You’ve faced more daunting challenges than sex, Dean. I think you can do it, can’t you?”

_No_ , Dean wants to say. He hasn’t had to put this much effort into getting off in years, and never once did it involve fucking in a leather recliner while the television plays mid-morning game shows in the background. Castiel makes him want to try, even with the stranglehold around his neck. “What if I untied your wrists?” Castiel suggests, low and moderately chastising. Dean wanted this—Dean wanted to test his limits, and now he can’t follow through, and Castiel _knows_.

Shaking his head, Dean wiggles in Castiel’s lap. “Just—keep them tied, but.” He bites his lip, fighting for the right words. _You wanted this_. “You’re making me do all the work, man.”

Castiel smirks, the barest hint of sadism in his eyes. “You love it though,” he murmurs. He laves a trail of kisses up his neck, then latches onto the spot beneath Dean’s ear, pulling the tie tighter while Dean moans. The headrush is indescribable, from Castiel’s lips to his hips bucking up once, twice, slow and methodical. Keeping him interested—reminding him where he is. Right now, his pleasure belongs to Castiel and Castiel only, and Castiel holds the reins.

And worst of all, Dean _does_ love it. Loves everything about Castiel, his hands, his cock, his fucking lips and the bruises they leave behind. Castiel draws him into another kiss and loosens the tie, letting it hang slack around Dean’s neck. Those same broad hands smooth across his overheated skin, up his ribs and down the length of his spine, then around his wrists, where he snaps open the cuffs with merely a thought. “Arms on the headrest,” he orders, and Dean obeys without a second thought, panting warmly against Castiel’s mouth. “You’re lucky I don’t discipline you for your insolence.”

“Talk dirty to me,” Dean taunts with a grin. Castiel reaches up and wraps the engraved cuffs around Dean’s wrists, snapping them into place. Once again bound, kept at Castiel’s mercy.

“Happy now?” Castiel asks.

Dean nods and buries his face in Castiel’s neck. “Perfect.”

The first thrust, rather than enduring the searing burn traveling up his thighs, leaves him winded, fingers grappling for the top of the chair. Definitely better. Here, he rears up and grinds down, the air rushing from his lungs. That, and Castiel’s fingers joining in, two digits teasing his rim, threatening to sink in alongside his cock. Dean’s gut twists with the implication; his cock twitches, unattended. “Do it,” Dean mutters, heated. “C’mon, know you wanna.”

“Eager?” Castiel asks, no doubt smirking. Dean doesn’t get the chance to goad him; Castiel sinks a single finger inside, stretching Dean that much wider, allowing Castiel that much deeper. Head thrown back, Dean chokes back a moan, his lip between his teeth. Castiel sucks a nipple while Dean bucks and _writhes_ , panting heatedly into the air.

“Look at you,” Castiel whispers, then pulls his finger free, smearing the mess of lube across Dean’s ass. He slaps it for good measure, and Dean whines, _loud_. “You’re stunning in daylight, but I like you better like this, on your knees for me.”

“Yeah,” Dean answers, automatic. Fingers flexed, he bears down and takes Castiel to the hilt, again and again; each time, Castiel smacks him, then rubs the mark. “ _Fuck_ , yeah, Cas—”

Castiel’s hand leaves—the tie tightens, pressure once again building around Dean’s neck. Heat spirals through him, shooting straight to his cock. Whether or not Castiel is close, Dean can’t tell, but Dean has been on the verge for what feels like hours, heat blossoming across his skin, sweat beading, spilling. Pulling the tie taut, Castiel plants his feet on the floor and gathers Dean around the waist, holding him in place.

Foreheads touching, Castiel asks, “What’s your safe word?”

“Blue,” Dean says—and Castiel takes over.

Dean would be lying if he ever said he was used to it, to the control Castiel exudes over him in moments like this. Gripping the back of the chair, Dean moans obscenities into Castiel’s mouth, the want in him surging, climbing; his cock grinds in the scent space between them, and he chases it, begging with every ounce of energy he has for Castiel to fuck him harder, _harder_. And Castiel does, all while he tucks two fingers between Dean’s throat and the tie, the only thing keeping Dean breathing. It’s enough—Castiel has always been enough for him, and more, and this is no different.

“Fuck me,” Dean pants, eyes pinched shut. His balls draw up, aided by Castiel fisting the tie by the knot and his cock driving in, _in_ , _in_ , severing Dean’s sense of reality from his body. Heat rips a hot trail up his spine, then spirals into his gut and lower, seizing each and every muscle until his muscles seize. He forgets to breathe as he spills, streaking Castiel’s stomach in white, the mess of it dripping southward.

Only after does Castiel lessen his hold on the tie, and Dean sucks in a breath, the edges of his vision black with just how vital this act of breathing is, now that he can. Castiel follows seconds later, his teeth scraping the juncture of Dean’s throat as he comes, warmth spreading inside and seeping out around Castiel’s cock. The chair is ruined—Sam will kill them if he ever finds out.

Winded, Dean slumps forward, held up solely by his arms and Castiel’s hand, still wrapped around the tie. Looser now, but holding him, keeping him tethered. “Are you with me?” Castiel asks, just as breathless. Dean nods, all he can manage. “Dean.”

“’m here,” Dean says, then laughs, his shoulders shaking. “Holy fuck, I need a minute.”

Castiel kisses Dean’s forehead, humming to himself while he unloops the tie from around Dean’s neck, then the handcuffs. He tosses both to the floor, the metal of the cuffs clattering. “We should go to your room,” he suggests, peppering kisses to Dean’s forehead. “Stretch you out, before you complain like last time.”

“Did not complain,” Dean complains, much to Castiel’s amusement. “You’re the one who fucked me so hard I pulled a muscle.”

“You enjoyed it, though,” Castiel says, and—that, Dean can’t disagree with. “We could also take a bath.”

Dean laughs and, shaking out his wrists, cups Castiel’s cheeks. They kiss, chaste, before Dean pulls back, heart in his throat. Castiel looks at him with such fondness, such admiration, that Dean will never get used to this, not for as long as he lives. “You’re obsessed with that tub,” he says. Castiel smiles. “Surprised you ever get out of it.”

“Winter isn’t my favorite season,” Castiel says. He drapes both arms around Dean’s waist; his cock slips out, soft, and Dean laments the loss, but only for a moment. “Having you here helps. Among other reasons.”

“Right,” Dean says, and smiles into another kiss. “Still haven’t christened it yet, if you wanna.”

Castiel palms his ass, sinking his fingers in—Dean takes that as a yes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine me, wiggling my eyebrows. Enjoy some porn while I think over three more ideas for these two!! :D
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
